


Border Skirmish

by racheldawnamber



Series: Matriarchs [1]
Category: Wings of Fire - Tui T. Sutherland
Genre: F/F, Gen, if you want noncanon lesbian dragon angst.. im here for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:35:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheldawnamber/pseuds/racheldawnamber
Summary: Sergeant Tanager had fought dozens, even hundreds of battles for the SkyWing queen. It took only one to uproot her whole world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> it's lesbian fancharacter dragons. its got like... moderately graphic descriptions of violence and corpses. warning has been issued

In the rush of battle, with every moment passing instantly yet dragging on for what felt like infinity, it was clear to Tanager that the world would go up not in fire but in ice.

Around her was a sea of red and white, crimson and icy blues. There were more maroon shapes than any other, but she didn't know if that was because her SkyWings outnumbered the IceWing troops they'd attacked, or if there was just enough blood going around to dye anyone she could catch a glimpse of.

This was far from being her first frontline battle, or her first as leader of her own platoon of dragons, but it had been a while since the last full-on attack she'd headed, and she found herself distracted by guilt. An IceWing encampment had been close to the border, deemed a threat, and just like that she'd been told to annihilate them. It wasn't her place to so much as side-eye the order, so she didn't, moving her platoon within the day to attack under cover of night.

Now, in the midst of the battle, between orders roared to her soldiers and flame bellowed at any IceWing close enough to burn, she was rethinking.

Something about this felt wrong, the same twist in her chest she'd always felt watching the 'fights' in the arena. It wasn't a battle, it was cold-blooded murder of hapless, defenseless dragons who could hardly even see to defend themselves, the only light from the flame exhaled by hostile soldiers. 

She saw one of her own soldiers flying around a smaller IceWing, weaving in circles and darting in for bursts of flame or slashes of claws while the ice-colored dragon struggled even to see their attacker. Tanager squinted, trying to identify the SkyWing cruelly harrying their quarry, but before she could her attention was stolen- a massive plume of flame erupted from nowhere.

It blinded her for a moment and she startled, whirling around in the air and trying to gain altitude so she could see what had happened. A series of rudimentary tents and lean-tos erected from what sparse wood the area offered had been lit up. A red dragon shot past her and away from it, hollering with glee, "Got their medbay, Sarge!"

Another twist of guilt, an unmistakable feeling that she was spearheading an execution rather than a battle. She shook her head slightly, hovering in mid-air as she looked down at the blazing inferno consuming a makeshift hospital. Maybe the presence of injured dragons was proof these IceWings had been acting against the Sky Kingdom, but that was a tenuous line of thought at best, and it could hardly justify what her dragons had just done.

She was distraught enough to make an idiotic mistake- she hadn't been paying attention to the ongoing battle. The IceWings were rallying, desperate enough to make a final all-or-nothing push against the SkyWing platoon, and one had singled her out as the platoon sergeant. She didn't realize she was being attacked until she felt claws in her neck and heard the telltale hiss of an IceWing frostbreath being drawn, deadly close to her ear.

Poetic justice, really. She braced herself.

 

She almost fell out of the sky, yanked to the side and feeling IceWing claws tear out from where they'd dug into her scales. She beat her wings frantically to stay airborne, and when she saw the young dragon who'd saved her life, now grappling with an IceWing twice his size, she wished she could reach back in time and chew her own wings off.

"Careful, Mom! This one almost had you there," Shrike yelled to her, glancing back at her with his claws clamping shut the IceWing's snout.

"Don't worry about me," she shouted back to him before angling her wings to dive back into the fray. She wouldn't be distracted again. She would see this battle through to the end, before any more SkyWing blood was spilt, and now she knew why.

She turned her head away from him to look where she was going. She had just long enough to register the shape in front of her in the dark as a dragon before its tail slammed into her head. For the next half hour she was dead to the world, falling like a stone.

  
  
  


"Tanager? Come on, come on…"

"Our luck she's dead. I volunteer to  _ not _ be the one who has to tell the General."

"Three moons, Sard, I told you, she's not dead. If you just  _ can't  _ wait for her to wake up you can carry her back to the outpost yourself."

The first thing she heard when she came to was arguing. Opening her eyes half-way, she interrupted before any more could be said. "I'm fine. Let's move out."

"Tanager! You had us worried there for a moment. One of those IceWings got a nasty hit on you. I caught you before you hit the ground, so aside from your head you should be fine. Not to be presumptuous! Are you alright, sergeant?"

She could only see the claws of the dragon before her but recognized the voice easily. Sparrow. Her second in command yet so quiet and obedient that she hardly knew a thing about them. A bit of a tail-kisser from time to time, but reliable, and they'd saved her life more than just this last time.

"I'm fine," she replied, heaving herself to her feet and shaking her head to clear it. This proved to be a horrible and thoughtless action; her skull throbbed angrily in a split second. She felt like she'd tried to headbutt a mountain. When the pain hit her like a spear she hissed, grabbing her head in her claws.

"Oh, you look it, Sarge." A couple of tail-lengths off a maroon dragon jeered at her and she pointedly ignored him- Sard had a reputation for being anything from annoying to a violence-mongering freak, and ignoring him was almost always the best thing to do. She recalled the dragon she'd seen worrying at the IceWing like a cat playing with a mouse- the scale colors matched, and she was far from shocked. He'd made a name for himself with such cruelties in every battle she'd had the displeasure of sharing with him.

He seemed fixated with something on the ground beneath him, so she steadied herself and slowly walked over, as quickly as she could without exacerbating the drumming pain in her skull.

"Whatever you've got there, I can  _ promise _ you you're not allowed to have."

"I hardly think it's your place to confiscate IceWing scum. Check this out- seven circles on this one. Doesn't that translate to 'disposable'? Almost feels like a waste of time."

The moment she heard the word 'IceWing' she tried to hurry, but her head enforced a slow, meandering walk over to Sard despite her displeased but necessary interest.

Indeed, she saw that he had caught an IceWing. It might have been the same one he had set upon earlier. From up close it was clearly a younger soldier. No way they were older than seven, Tanager could tell from both their smaller frame and from the abject terror obvious in their wide eyes. The helpless IceWing was trapped beneath Sard's talons, pinned by the throat. Any movement, even just a deep breath matched with a twitch the wrong way, could be deadly.

Assuming the countless wounds covering the young dragon weren't already enough to be fatal. Burns, scratches, and bites covered nearly inch of their scales, deep enough to hurt but not kill, except perhaps by eventual blood loss or infection.

She was a SkyWing, a servant of her queen and the cause belonging to her, but that didn't mean she had no compassion for a dragon on the brink of death. She raised her gaze from the petrified IceWing to meet Sard's amused eyes. He affirmed the eye contact, looking loftily down upon her- his tall frame and her bowed, painful head must have been a power trip to remember for the scrawny smoke-breather, she thought.

"We're soldiers, not torturers. Let them go."

" _ We're soldiers _ ," he mimicked her with derision. "In case you didn't notice, we're also SkyWings, and we've got no reason to leave any of these enemy dragons alive. So long as they're dead when we leave, what's it matter if between now and then we have a little fun?"

"Let them go or I'll charge you with insubordination, Sard."

"Well, if you  _ insist _ . You  _ are _ the sergeant, after all, not me. Oh well. Hear that, IceWing? You're free to go. Tell everyone about how great a fight you and your friends put up. Maybe mention me," he added with a wink.

"Sard. Now." She spoke with as much threat as she could put into two words.

He lifted his claws from the IceWing's neck. The young soldier tried to stand as quickly as they could. With more grace than Tanager would have thought Sard capable of, he drug his claws through the artery at the base of their neck in a single smooth movement.

"Whoops! Slippery as snakes, IceWings."

The IceWing panicked as blood spurted from their neck, a brilliant deep blue color. At a loss for anything else to do they forced themself to their feet and took a few shaky steps backwards from the SkyWings, facing them with wide, terrified eyes. After a moment panic and fear won out over caution and they turned tail and ran as fast as they could manage, trying to hold shut the gash in their neck with a wing claw.

Tanager knew there wasn't a dragon alive who could run all the way back to an IceWing outpost from the border before bleeding out from a wound like that.

Sard knew that too, obviously, looking as pleased as any dragon could be.

It honestly and deeply took every ounce of self-control in Tanager not to make it even, not to rip his own throat open with her own claws. He was the most evil thing she'd ever known and killing him would be a favor to Pyrrhia.

But it wouldn't be a favor to her rank, and it wouldn't be a favor to Shrike.

Shrike- she hadn't seen him since she'd come to. She turned to Sparrow, who had been standing uncomfortably by while she dealt with Sard.

"Sparrow!" She shouted, not wanting to bother with walking over to them.

"Yes, Tanager?" They half-ran, half-glided over, wings flapping loudly.

"Where's Shrike?"

"Probably with the other soldiers by the creek. A hundred tail-lengths down that way," they answered, gesturing with a claw in the indicated direction.

 

She slowly but steadily made the trek to the rest of the soldiers. Sparrow told her they were staying behind to inspect the battlefield for anything of import, while Sard failed to give any explanation for not following her. She assumed it had something to do with them hating each other and didn't press the issue, feeling no craving for more of his company.

 

When she reached the creek, she saw her platoon milling about. A small number were resting in the water, trying to thaw frozen extremities or wash off flesh wounds, but none seemed critically injured to her as she walked through the small crowd of soldiers. She didn't spot Shrike, even calling his name on the off chance she'd just failed to see him amongst the others.

By the third time she'd walked back through the platoon, calling for her son, she had begun to panic, a feeling made only worse by the increasing throbbing pain of her likely-concussed head. She ordered the platoon to number off- three dragons in total were missing. Shrike was one of them.

A dozen possibilities whirled through her swimming consciousness. Maybe he'd been taken prisoner, or abandoned the battle, or gotten lost in the dark or the night. Maybe he was just out hunting since the end of the battle and he'd be back in minutes.

She tried to fixate herself on the latter as she walked with increasing clumsiness back to the equally charred and frozen remnants of the battlefield. As she walked past Sparrow they tried to engage, asking how checking on Shrike had gone, and she ignored them. Her darkvision wasn't good enough for body identification at this hour, but the remnants of the IceWing structures were still illuminating the area as they burned, and she started poring over the battlefield.

The ground was littered with dead IceWings above all else. Burnt, shredded, beaten, all manner of deaths for all manner of dragons. But she didn't care. A thousand dead IceWings would mean nothing to her, much less a small outpost of them, until she found her son.

The first crimson body she came across was not him and she saw it almost immediately, despite their similarities. Both fairly young, both with scales in a particular orange-maroon shade, but this dragon was not her child. It was as clear as day to her, so she continued searching.

After that, she found another dead SkyWing, this one older, paler. She recalled this member of the platoon had been planning to retire before the war started but decided to continue serving the queen in this time of need. She didn't care enough to remember the dragon's name.

It was wedged between and beneath two IceWing corpses that she found Shrike, and when she did, it was as if time stood still.

Frost covered his face, most obviously of all; it stood up in tiny flecks on his scales, covered his wide open and unseeing eyes, crept into his nostrils and ears. She wasn't sure if it had been the frostbreath that had killed him, or the injury to his neck beneath it. His head was barely attached to his body, hanging on by scraps of scale and sinew.

 

For the first few moments, it didn't process mentally. She knew it was him, obviously. She would recognize the dragon she'd raised from hatching even from the smallest sights or pieces. It was simply unthinkable that he was dead, so she didn't think it for as long as she could. Her gaze settled on his eyes, trapped open forever by ice. If she'd tried to slide them shut they'd likely have shattered as easily as glass.

 

It could have been ten seconds or ten hours later when she mantled her wings over her head and cried. Full-body sobs wracked her, an overpowering sadness that threatened to wash her away entirely, and she allowed it to. Sparrow slowly, tentatively walked up beside her, tried to comfort her. She didn't respond. Even if she could have, what would she have said?

 

"She's as soft as a scavenger. Told you." Sard strolled by and addressed her and Sparrow. Neither replied.

"Tanager, please. We need to go. There might be IceWing reinforcements on their way here. I know this is tragic, but we need to leave here and return to the Sky Kingdom." Sparrow sounded genuinely worried, a change from their normal optimistic tone.

"If she's not fit to lead that's her problem. We're not dying because of it," Sard insisted. "If she won't do what's best for the platoon she's forfeiting command."

 

"I forfeit command of the platoon to Sparrow," she said almost immediately.

Sard looked shocked, for a moment, not expecting Tanager to speak, but in a moment was enraged. "Looks like pays to have a brown snout, huh?" he jeered at the dragon who'd just been promoted over him.

Sparrow was just as surprised, taking a few seconds before speaking. A surprising level of confidence and authority entered their voice; whether it was fake or real, it was convincing.

"The platoon is moving out. Sard, gather the troops."

"Eat dung," Sard rejected the order.

"Insubordination is a crime in the army of the Sky Kingdom." They were unfazed. "Gather the troops."

"Are you _threatening_ _me_? That's adorable." He laughed, scathing and cold.

"Sard, you are under military arrest for insubordination and refusal to follow orders. You will be tried upon return to the Sky Kingdom."

"Sparrow- oh, excuse me,  _ Sergeant Sparrow _ \- trust me, you're not arresting me. You're not even going back to the Sky Kingdom."

 

In the span of a moment, a great deal happened.

Sard lunged for the newly promoted SkyWing, teeth and claws ready. He wouldn't use flame to kill Sparrow so he could convince the troops that they'd been killed by an IceWing still lurking around the battlefield. He'd nobly slain it but not before it could fatally wound his beloved fellow soldier and Sergeant, who with her dying breath placed him in charge. It was a flawless plan.

Sparrow anticipated his attack, not even flinching away until the last moment. They reached for a spear pinning an IceWing corpse to the dirt, pulled it free with surprising ease, and brought it around in a single fluid movement. The flat of the blade collided directly with Sard's skull, knocking him unconscious before he even knew what had hit him.

 

They stepped back, slightly winded, and dropped the spear. For a moment all was quiet. Tanager hadn't so much as moved to watch the brief skirmish, her face still hidden beneath her wings.

"... Tanager, I'll send some dragons back for you as soon as I can. I'm sorry." They hefted Sard to drag back to the other soldiers, walking slowly but steadily away.

  
  
  


It wasn't until dawn, her fellow SkyWings long gone, that Tanager let herself move, lowering her wings and laying herself upon the ground. She ached from her vigil, but the soreness was nothing to her next to the massive loss she was still processing. She used a wing to shoo flies away from Shrike's face- now thawed it was almost pulpy in texture, hard for her to so much as look at. She gently slid closed her son's eyes.

Even if she knew what to do next, which she didn't, having no place in the Sky Kingdom to return to after abandoning her rank, she didn't want to. There was no moving past this for her. The son she'd raised from hatching was dead less than a tail-length away. The culmination of her entire life thus far was gone.

She should have died in the battle. That much was certain.

With nothing and nowhere in Pyrrhia waiting for her, she was immobilized. She lowered her head to the bloodsoaked ground and did nothing.

  
  
  
  


Over the last few hours, the wreckage of the IceWing tents had come down from a funeral pyre to a lonely, soft glow, ashes still hot and the occasional small flame still licking at the debris but for the most part burned out.

The rubble of the biggest structure, a wooden lean-to about three dragon-lengths across, shifted. Embers burned Permafrost's face as she forced her snout through the wreckage, the rest of her body soon following. It took every ounce of strength she could muster, and her scales screamed, not just from the still-smoking wood but from every flame that had found her during the worst of it, the world of fire and smoke and heat that she had been so certain would spell her death.

It still might.

She made a bit of a ruckus as she pulled herself out, making a pained noise somewhere between a growl and a roar. It would draw the attention of any dragons still nearby, but keeping quiet was impossible. Her wings in particular hurt beyond measure, and she was somewhat scared to see them once she was free.

She hobbled off the scorched ruins as quickly as she could, distressed to find she couldn't feel her back left leg. But she didn't focus on it for long, her attention grabbed instead by the corpse she'd just accidentally put her foot down on. Her stomach leapt into her throat and she stopped herself from heaving through sheer power of will. She walked around the fallen soldier, trying to pay better attention to where she placed her feet, but it became quickly clear to her that here, where the battle's center had raged, there was more death than dirt.

 

She only fell over once while picking her way out of the thick of the battlefield and felt like that was honestly a display of strength considering her current state. At least two dragon-lengths from the nearest body, she steeled herself and decided it was time to assess the extent of her injuries. She craned her neck with significant pain to look over herself.

The first thing she saw was her wing- what was left of her wing. It had hurt before, but now a fresh pain edged with comprehension hit her like a hailstone- it was a blistered, melted mess hardly recognizable as a limb, plastered messily to her back like wax left in the sun.

At least her wings had taken the worst of it. All over she was burned, but more lightly- charred scales were manageable. The leg she couldn't feel was burned as well, but the main problem it was having was a section of the lean-to's charred framing protruding from her calf.

She had one cold comfort when she saw all this, even as painful as it was. She was a trained healer- other dragons with burns just as bad had walked into her tent and she'd treated them. The only difference was that it was herself this time.

First was to assess which burns needed the most immediate attention- she tried to make a mental map of her scales but found it difficult to focus past the pain in her ears. What she needed was ice. Ice would make her feel better. Ice would clear her head and let her think and keep her alive long enough to handle this. But she was hours of flight from even just the tundra- walking it was unthinkable. She'd die before she was within a day of snow. The burns weren't bleeding, thankfully, but they would get infected soon, assuming they weren't already. 

She tried to extend her worst burned wing experimentally, bracing herself for the pain, and cried out when she tried- but it was only trying, and it wouldn't stretch past its folded position. The other would unfurl from her body, but its fingers wouldn't move apart, and on some bone was visible where the superheated flesh had melted away.

 

Forcing herself to her feet, she started slowly walking, her leg dragging across the ground. There had been a stream near the encampment, and if she could reach it, she could wash her wounds and freeze some water. It would be a start.

 

Crossing the battlefield to reach the stream was painful- not just in body but in heart. She could put names to almost all of the bodies she saw lying cold on the gory ground. The only ones she couldn't identify were the ones too thoroughly mangled or burnt to make out any defining features. All dragons she'd known, spoken to, who had walked into her tent with colds or twisted wings or upset stomachs. Now broken beyond even her repair.

Among the IceWing bodies she did see a clawful of SkyWings, and she couldn't help but pity them equally. Tribes separated them, but only for a war that neither had asked for. No SkyWing here today cared which SandWing took the throne. Certainly not enough to die over it.

It was this sentimental survey of the carnage that led her to notice one odd SkyWing body, propped up above the rest. She squinted, trying to discern what might be holding it in place, until she realized what she was seeing.

She was looking at a living SkyWing. Another lone survivor of the battle. The dragon had her wings mantled over her head, crouching silently and trembling over another red dragon's body. From this distance, and so obscured by her wings, it was impossible for Permafrost to tell if this SkyWing was injured, but she found herself desperately driven to find out. Even with her own injuries, she knew she had to help anyone else she could first. It was her duty as a healer.

"Are you injured?" She called out toward the stranger, caught off guard by how hoarse and phlegmy her own voice sounded. Smoke inhalation had done a number on her throat. When the SkyWing didn't reply she moved closer, trying again.

"Please, are you hurt? I can help you."

The SkyWing's reply was muffled and quiet but unmistakable. "No, you can't."

She frowned, not sure how to press the point. The dragon didn't seem immediately injured, but she certainly wasn't hanging around this place for the scenic view. Permafrost tried to look over the dragon for any injured, and while looking over her she noticed a second, younger SkyWing at her talons.

The situation fell into place quickly. The fallen soldier bore some resemblance to the dragon hunched over him, though it was hard to glean his features past the injuries he had succumbed to. Flies were moving busily around the body, thick through most of the battlefield and especially so on him. A massive neck wound made him a ripe breeding ground. A choice piece of carrion for maggots to feast upon.

Her sense of nausea and hatred for the war grew stronger in the pit of her stomach.

 

After a few moments, she started to resume her trek to the stream, turning briefly to speak one last time.

"... I'm sorry."

  
  
  


When she reached the stream after a slow, painful walk, she eased herself into the shallows, mustering all her willpower not to cry out or collapse. Past the initial shock, the cool running water numbed her wounds, providing some relief, and once she was chest-deep it took her weight off of her legs. Leaving only one trailing on the bed of the stream to anchor herself, she cleared her mind and tried to begin thinking about how to tend her wounds.

Her wings were the most pressing issue, although all the burns required serious attention. Infection would set in soon, and she had no means to sterilize the injuries. Even her leg was a likely candidate for infection or perhaps even gangrene.

She tried to extend her badly burnt wing again, still to no effect but intense pain. Her other could still move, but was still a point of concern- in the water she was acutely aware that she couldn't feel it past around the elbow, the spot where bone was visible through the wound. She anticipated necrosis.

Exhaling slowly, she took stock of the landscape. Any prepared supplies for healing were gone, destroyed in the flames of the SkyWing attack, but she could improvise if she could find supplies to do so. Her thoughts returned to necrosis or gangrene, and then to the flies she'd seen throughout the battlefield. She had the supplies to handle any dead tissue, at least, though her stomach turned at the idea.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a small fish lazily carried by the stream. Out of habit she made a snap for it and instantly regretted it, feeling the swift motion tear open a clotted over wound. She even managed to miss the fish, which darted away downstream before a thing could be done about it. She was frustrated, and the incident brought to mind that even if her burns didn't leave her dead starvation certainly would. She couldn't hunt like this. Finding food away from the ice was hard enough without being injured.

Now with the thought of food her belly rumbled, as if to drive home how thorough a disaster this was, and she growled back at it, half walking and half swimming back closer to the shore. Laying down in the shallows, cool water running across her back and her head laid carefully onto shore, she dozed off, exhausted from pain and exertion and knowing that there was nothing she could currently do but recuperate and regroup when she felt less awful.

Or she'd die in her sleep and that would be the end of Permafrost the healer, though she certainly hoped not.

  
  
  


The buzzing of flies was incessant, the awful insects finding their ways around her wings and worrying at Tanager's eyes, ears, and snout. She tried to ignore them at first, only twitching or shaking slightly to try to scare them off, but they were determined and fearless. Eventually she just couldn't take it a second longer.

Her vigil was broken by a raw, earth-shattering roar, her massive wings flapping violently as she reared up to bat away any small creature foolish enough to be close. She even blew a jet of flame for good measure. The insects retreated briefly, and she stood back upon her four legs, breathing heavily from the sudden effort. The outburst was good for her; she'd momentarily forgotten the tragedy that had held her in place.

But it now stared her in the face, her son's lifeless body still lain before her. Even her threats hadn't been enough to ward off the insects flying and crawling busily all about him. Really, the corpse wasn't lifeless, just devoid of  _ dragon's _ life. Hundreds, even thousands of small creatures were making their livelihoods at this very moment in Shrike's remains.

Tanager didn't care for that at all.

A proper SkyWing funeral was what he deserved, but she knew he would never receive it. Not out here, in a field of death and flies, and there was no way to carry him to a higher place. She was strong, but he was a grown dragon, and flying alone with a body all the way to a peak was impossible. So she would do the next best thing she could think of.

It took a few jets of flame to get the corpse to light, but eventually a wet, smokey fire caught, gently burning him to bones. She closed her eyes against the heat of the flames, praying silently that his spirit might find her again in another life, whatever shape it might take.

The smoking funeral pyre stung her nostrils and eyes, and after a few minutes she had no choice but to back away from it. She took this as a moment to think about her situation.

Not much earlier she'd been spoken to by another dragon. A raspy, unhealthy sounding voice that she didn't recognize. Perhaps the patrol Sparrow had promised to send? But she hadn't heard any more than one dragon, and it seemed awfully soon. Another dragon lingering around the battlefield, then, or a passerby. She wondered if the mystery dragon was still in the area.

Of course, it didn't matter to her. If it was a SkyWing from the army she'd be flying in exactly the opposite direction of them. The Sky Kingdom was absolutely the last place she meant to go. Where she  _ did _ mean to go, she had no idea yet. Maybe Possibility, but there was still the chance there of being pulled back into the SkyWing military. She'd heard rumors about a place beyond the war in the Sand Kingdom, the Scorpion Den, where she might disappear, but a SkyWing might not be welcome with the current political climate of the Kingdom.

She could go to the rainforest, she joked to herself. No-one would look there.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her loudly complaining stomach. She hadn't eaten since before setting out to attack the IceWing camp. She kicked off into the air, hovering for a moment. She was reluctant to leave behind Shrike's remains. It felt wrong, like abandoning something that needed her. Like orphaning everything that was left of her son.

For just a moment she let her gaze linger on the fire consuming him, whispered a goodbye, and flew skyward.

  
  
  


As soon as she had enough altitude to get a scope of the surrounding area, she realized that this was not a great place for hunting. Tree cover was sparse where it was present at all, and the only water source, the stream, had been contaminated with the body of an IceWing from the battle. The water was moving, so it would be safe upstream from the corpse, but fishing was certainly out of the question. She moved her sights to the sky.

Now, this she could work with. A great number of vultures were gathering above the battlefield, some already having landed to begin their feast. She could catch the slow birds easily, and set to the task immediately. It gave her mind something to do as she climbed the air currents then set into a dive, weaving through the air and catching the birds as they flew. The flurry of activity startled the kettle, but she was exponentially faster than the soaring scavengers, and managed to catch half a dozen of the hapless birds before they dispersed further than she cared to follow them.

Her catch held in her talons, she descended to the stream. She'd want to gut the birds before eating them, and probably cook them, too. She didn't know where they'd been, after all, and an upset stomach would be the cherry on top of what had definitely been the worst twenty four hours of her life.

She landed and started slitting open the birds' bodies, carving out the entrails and tossing them into the stream. As her eyes followed one tangle of guts downstream, she started; the IceWing body downstream was moving, getting shakily to its feet. For a split second her mind leapt to the idea of an undead dragon, and the badly injured state of the IceWing almost sold her on it, but she dismissed it in the span of a moment. Somehow this dragon had survived the massacre and made it to the stream. She kept her eyes locked on the dragon, spreading her wings slightly in case it became necessary to make a quick getaway from a vengeful enemy.

This escape would not come to pass. The IceWing, nearly to her feet, slipped and fell back to the sandy ground with a yelp, sounding more pained than the fall would have made it.

Logic dictated to Tanager that she should leave, take her meat and go before this became a problem. But empathy won out over reason and she started slowly approaching the dragon downstream. She stopped tentatively about a dragon-length away, not wanting to seem aggressive. The IceWing was clambering back to her feet again, still shaking, and from this close it was obvious why. She was positively  _ covered _ in burns. One of her wings was practically melted. Tanager felt her stomach twist and might have retched if she had anything in it.

"... Do you need help?" She offered assistance, and the IceWing was startled at her voice, nearly falling back down.  _ She's clearly not a soldier, _ Tanager thought to herself.  _ Or the IceWing army is easier to ambush than a deaf goat. _

"Please," the IceWing replied, and it was Tanager's turn to be surprised. This was the stranger who'd approached her on the battlefield. It made no sense, really- why would she have been worried about the well-being of an enemy? Then again, she was doing the exact same thing herself.

As gently as possible she walked beside the IceWing and let her lean against her as she limped out of the water, breathing heavily with pain and exertion.

"Thank you," she managed once on dry ground, silty earth beneath her claws.

Now the IceWing was completely ashore, Tanager had another full view of her burns and turned away her head to avoid looking straight at the grotesque burns. In particular the IceWing's ruined wings disturbed her; her own limbs ached with sympathy pains.

There was silence between them for a few moments, broken only by the loud breaths of the IceWing, before she spoke again.

"What's your name?" She tried for eye contact that Tanager continued to avoid.

"Searg- Tanager," she replied, giving her newly discarded rank out of habit but stopping herself. "My name is Tanager. Yours?" She awkwardly looked for something else to fix her gaze upon besides this other dragon; her eyes found the half-ready vulture meat she'd been preparing, and she pretended she was just anxious to get back to it.

"Permafrost," the IceWing replied. She saw right through Tanager's attempt to avert her eyes while not being incredibly rude, and understood it, remembering how she'd responded to the first serious burn she'd ever seen, still a young trainee in the art of healing. She'd been skittish around open fires for moons afterwards, though thankfully there were few in the Ice Kingdom.

"They look worse than they are," she tried to help. "Burns are usually like that."

"I'm sorry," Tanager replied, rather jarringly. "No dragon should have to live through something like that. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry. You didn't do this, the structure caught flame, it was just my bad luck to be-"

"It caught fire because I couldn't control my troops. Somewhere close to here a seven-year-old is bleeding out because I should never have convinced myself I was a leader."

Permafrost didn't have anything to say to that for a few long moments, averting her own gaze, before a thought found her. "A seven year old? Sort of a blue-gray color, tiny ears? Big"

Confused, Tanager tried to remember the dragonet Sard had tortured. "I didn't get a good look at them, but maybe. They had seven of your IceWing rings."

Despite her injuries Permafrost perked up, her tail splashing behind her in the water excitedly. "I think that was Seal. I didn't see them with the rest of the soldiers."

"One of my soldiers cut their, uhm... " Forgetting the name, she drew a line with her claw across one of the arteries in her neck. "I'm sorry."

"Seal was my assistant. If any dragon would know what to do, they would. They're probably okay. I mean, not okay, but… surviving. Thank the moons," she sighed, relieved beyond belief. Her protegé meant a lot to her, and to hear that they had any chance of survival was a massive weight lifted, even despite the carnage still remaining.

"The nearest IceWing outpost is way too far to make it to, even for a fully trained healer," Tanager argued despite herself. She didn't want to crush Permafrost's hopes but it was unrealistic to believe the dragonet, Seal, was going to survive.

"That's not… strictly true," Permafrost replied after a moment. "I probably shouldn't be spilling IceWing secrets right now but just trust me, they're fine."

Tanager snorted. "Oh, yeah, tribe secrets are important right now. How's this- the SkyWings are planning an offensive on the Stronghold at the turn of the second moon from now, the last General didn't actually die from colic, she was poisoned, and one of Queen Scarlet's advisors got killed last moon for calling her a moldy nectarine in earshot of a spy."

Permafrost chuffed with laughter, trying to keep as still as possible so she wouldn't aggravate her injuries. It worked, but only to a slight extent, and she winced after a moment, the fun killed by the reminder of her situation.

 

"So… what are you going to do?" Tanager addressed the elephant in the room. "It's not like you can fly to the nearest doctor. I could try to carry you," she suggested, then regretted it. She might be a SkyWing, but Permafrost was significantly bulkier than herself, and even as a strong flier she couldn't carry a dragon almost twice her own size. Especially not for long enough to get to a town with dragons who would help.

"That wouldn't work," Permafrost replied, seeing in Tanager's expression that she agreed. "I'm not sure what my plan is right now. There's not really anything I can do but walk for somewhere I can get medicines to start working on this. Possibility should be upriver, shouldn't it?"

"It is, but by foot it would take days to reach it."

"Well, I guess I had better get to walking." Permafrost smiled, trying to put on an optimistic face, but her dire prospects were quite clear to her. The infection would set in and she'd be dead halfway there, if she didn't collapse first. It had been a struggle to get out of the stream, how did she expect herself to walk for days in her state?

"Do you want something to eat?" Tanager gestured with her tail to the pile of meat she'd been preparing.

"That would mean a lot," Permafrost replied earnestly. The SkyWing loped away to finish gutting the birds while she stayed behind, trying to relax on her feet. She tested her injured leg while she waited and found that she still had no control or feeling in it past around her knee. It was pallid, she noted as she craned her neck to look at it. The worst was definitely suspected, but it still didn't worry her as much as her wings.

It was only a few minutes until Tanager returned, her claws full of cooked vulture meat, and despite the charred taste Permafrost wolfed it down gladly, giving her thanks repeatedly between bites.

When she was finished eating she felt better, some strength returning to her, and she knew she wouldn't have a much better chance to try for survival than now. Each footstep a test of will, she began the arduous trek upriver to Possibility, Tanager in step beside her.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It was on the third day of the journey that Permafrost collapsed and couldn't get back onto her feet.

By Tanager's best guess, they were about a third of the way to Possibility. The going had been slower by the hour, Permafrost growing weaker with each passing day. Rests had been longer, the pace had been slower, and now finally they were forced to stop.

Rain had battered the unlikely pair for the last day of their walk, making the solid ground into slippery, treacherous mud. Permafrost had slipped and fallen snout-first into it, pushing weakly against it to free herself and only becoming more entrapped in the slick, more caked in the sludge.

Tanager took her companion by the talons and dragged her out to higher ground, but despite her assistance Permafrost couldn't bring herself back to her feet.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her legs shaking as she tried to stand again and collapsed promptly back to the ground. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Tanager assured her. "Let's just get out of the rain. Can you lean on me? There are some trees a few dragon-lengths off the riverbank."

It was a struggle but Tanager wedged herself beneath the bulky IceWing and half-carried her to the treeline of a stand of pines being battered by the rain. It was a short but laborious walk, and the close proximity to the injured IceWing offended her nostrils; over the last three days Permafrost had slowly acquired a unique scent of death and rot, wafting from her blackening, infected limbs. She had become accustomed to the sight, but not the smell, of these injuries over the last few days, but their severity had become no less jarring. She couldn't shake the feeling that Permafrost wouldn't survive.

The thought was palpably distressing, though she didn't know why. Maybe she was projecting her protection of her late son onto this random dragon just to have  _ somewhere _ to direct it. Her empathy had really gotten the better of her, she knew.

Permafrost fell to the ground as soon as they were under tree cover. The rain wasn't really held off by the puny, twisted pines, but it was better than nothing, and she was glad to rest. Even within moments of laying down she felt drowsy, only staying awake for fear that if she drifted off she might not wake back up.

From where she lay on her side she had a distinct sense of nondescript pressure on her back where her wing was pressed against the ground. She couldn't feel it, and she knew it was gangrenous. Both wings were, along with her leg.

Eyes closed and breathing slowly she commented equally to herself and to Tanager, "I'm dead. This isn't going to work."

"Yes, it is," she heard Tanager reply. "Just hang in there. I'll try to catch something for you to eat." Her voice had distress that Permafrost didn't expect to hear. Truly, this SkyWing soldier had been full of surprises from their first encounter, showing a kindness she hadn't expected from a dragon who, just hours before, had been a sworn enemy.

Grief did funny things to dragons, she supposed.

 

"Don't," she said. "If you really want to help, I need you to do something for me."

"What do you need me to do?"

"If I even make it to Possibility like this, I'll die anyways. The rot will spread from my wings and my leg and get into my blood soon, if it hasn't already. I've got a chance if you'll do just one thing for me."

"I'll do it, Permafrost. Just tell me what it is."

"I need you to take them off."

She heard nothing but silence for a long moment.

"I can't do that. You'd die."

"You'd need to be fast, and burn the wounds clean, but it's the best I've got."

"Permafrost, I'd kill you. I'm not a surgeon or a doctor, I'm a soldier."

"If you don't, I'll die for sure. If you do, I've got a chance." She felt bad, pressing Tanager like she was, like she was taking advantage of her kindness and the inexplicable connection she'd formed to her. But she also knew it was necessary if she was going to have any chance of living through this.

She heard Tanager shuffle in place, shifting her weight.

"I'm sorry, Permafrost. I can't."

There was no reply to that, the helplessness in Tanager's voice stopping Permafrost from going any further. That was it, then. She sighed, a long, soft noise. Tanager mumbled that she was going to go hunting and took off into the rain, leaving Permafrost alone on the pine needles and mud beneath the trees.

As she let herself fall into a tentative, uneasy sleep, her last thought was  _ she's not coming back _ .

  
  
  


Tanager flew and flew, letting the air carry her above the ground, above the clouds, above the rain. Above the dying IceWing whose life was in her claws. 

Whose life she was allowing to slip through her claws.

She didn't know why she cared so much. It was one IceWing. Dozens had died in the battle, scores in the war at large. One IceWing didn't make a difference. She had known this dragon for under a week.

If she did nothing and Permafrost died she would never forgive herself.

If she tried to help and killed Permafrost she would never forgive herself.

Up here above the clouds, their mass appearing as a pillowy grey sea beneath her, she was usually able to leave her problems behind on the ground. There was nothing here but a SkyWing and the sky.

Though she was hardly a SkyWing by now, wasn't she? She'd turned her back on her Queen and her home. She was a weakling at best and a traitor at worst. She'd abandoned her troops, given up command without a second thought, and left the Kingdom, all because she was  _ sad _ . She was pathetic.

And now she was about to take the pathetic way out of this problem. To just fly away and pretend everything was fine.

In her frustration she unleashed a jet of flame, only feeling brief heat on her face as the fire dissipated quickly into thin air.

She knew exactly what she needed to do, but she was too scared to do it. She was a coward. _Pyrrhia's most cowardly SkyWing._ _You're an embarrassment to the tribe_ , she goaded herself. The insults were bracing, like plunging her head into a mountain streamlet; painfully cold but helpful for waking up.

She knew exactly what she needed to do and the only thing stopping her was cowardice.

Her wings angled downward and she dropped through the clouds.

  
  
  


The next time she flew she was much lower to the ground, burdened, but the weather was fairer and the wind favored her. Her wings and claws ached from flying while so encumbered, but she was already in sight of Possibility, and hope gave her strength.

Beneath her, clinging dearly to her arms, was Permafrost, just barely carriable for the loss of her wings and leg.

Tanager had, to Permafrost's surprise, returned to the lonely stand of evergreens, and agreed to amputate her wings and leg. It had been a messy process, one which neither would soon forget, but the wounds were seared carefully shut with as much care as Tanager had to offer. The fresh injuries nearly blended in with the old, Permafrost's hide a patchwork of scales and scars, but the new ones didn't look nearly so sickly as the old. The rot was gone, and it was showing no signs of recurring.

Once the gory work had been done, Permafrost was unable to walk, but the pair found that she was now just light enough for Tanager to carry for a few minutes at a time, shaving precious days off of their journey. It hadn't been more than a few hours since they'd departed from the pines and they were minutes from Permafrost's salvation.

"I heard that the doctor here is a MudWing," she called up to Tanager over the noise of the wind rushing past them. "What if she doesn't service IceWings?" She was joking, and Tanager detected it. She shot a burst of flame upwards and over her shoulder before calling down, "I'll convince her," grinning.

  
  
  


For three moons they would stay in Possibility, anonymous and safe, before they decided it was time to go further from the Sky Kingdom for both of their sakes. Tanager suggested hiding in the southernmost mountain ranges, but the idea didn't last any longer than Permafrost reminding her that a wingless dragon can't fly. She knew flatlands were too exposed, but a compromise was suggested; they looked to the hills of Pyrrhia, and found their place on the coast of the Ice and Sand Kingdoms' borders.

Thus began their life. Not the two lives of a SkyWing soldier and an IceWing medic, but one shared between two rebels, matriarchs, and wives.

**Author's Note:**

> jesus christ i cant believe you actually read that. you brave soul
> 
> this is definitely a pet project and will only really update when my Fancy is Stricken.. rip


End file.
